


Allegiance is the Strangest Thing

by angelfeast (miscellanium)



Series: mille viae [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Doppelcest, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:17:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscellanium/pseuds/angelfeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn't strike Sam until later that Gabriel didn't say anything about having seen them the night before. But they're an hour away from Bobby's and it seems moot to mention it now, or at least it does until suddenly the archangel's there in the middle of the road and Dean drives through him. (set shortly after 5.19)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allegiance is the Strangest Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [padaguin (on tumblr)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=padaguin+%28on+tumblr%29).



> **Warnings:** mild dubcon; temporary removal of Sam's voice  
>  **Notes:** In the narrative, I use the gender-neutral pronoun "ou" for Castiel because I believe ou still identifies as agender and non-bodied, unlike Gabriel who has become much more comfortable in/accustomed to his body and with binary gender roles, etc.
> 
> Written for one of [fuckyeahgabrielsam](http://fuckyeahgabrielsam.tumblr.com/)'s fic exchanges; the prompt was _There are two Gabriels (either by making a double himself or a curse of some sort) and the original Gabriel decides that having sex with himself is something kinky he’d like to try. With Sam watching. Can end with threesome or just Sam getting himself off while watching the show_  
>  —I suspect that this is a wee bit more plotty than the recipient expected, ha.
> 
> The title is from the Aztec Camera song "The Back Door to Heaven", and huge thanks go to [Rory](http://wamsise-jamgee.tumblr.com/) for being such a thorough beta and for all the hand-holding.

**  
**

  


  
The first time it happens they're driving through Wyoming. Dean wanted to avoid getting backed up behind a bunch of trucks on route 25 but he didn't want to stop at a hotel either, thanks to that night with the gods in Indiana just last week, so now, of course, they're sliding around on some gravel back road in the rain. Their highbeams are glancing off a highway up ahead, and Sam just sits back and lets his head roll with each bump of the wheels. He's looking out the window, into the night, when by the side of the road just ahead is a flash of gold.

Sam squints through the rain—it's a person, except it's not, it's Gabriel—

But Gabriel's _dead_.

Jerking back from the window, Sam turns to Dean all ready to tell him to stop the car, but Dean's busy cursing because he has to keep shifting gears to keep moving, so Sam just watches as the archangel raises a hand and smirks as they pass him by.

\---

The next day, they're deep in Horsethief Cave—just outside Cody and forty feet underground—when Sam's phone rings. He's just liquefied a particularly nasty rogue Loveland frog, its explosive demise having left him covered in a mucky goop, so Dean snags the phone from Sam's pocket and shakes it off before answering it.

"Hello, boys! You miss me? Hope so, 'cause I kind of need a place to stay."

Dean takes a moment to place the voice, but when it clicks he shoots a dirty look at Sam. _What are you looking at_ me _for?!_ Sam mouths at him, wringing water out of his socks, but Dean just keeps glaring as though it's Sam's fault his phone has started receiving archangel radio.

"We're already trying to figure out what to do with one angel, we don't need another up our ass right now. Why don't you go fake your death again and leave us alone?"

"Hey, hey, hey! I got stabbed in the friggin' chest, and let me tell you, having your grace exploded into bits? Kinda hard to fake, and a world of not fun," snaps Gabriel, and his indignation sounds sincere enough that Dean keeps listening. "I don't know how the hell I'm back, all right?"

"Really? Look, man, I don't have time for this," Dean says, shouldering his duffle bag of ammo as though the archangel can see him. "Give me one good reason not to hang up right now."

"How about the fact that you're talking to somebody who chatted with the actual God-lovin' Virgin _Mary_ —" Gabriel cuts himself off with a loud sigh, the sound of it hissing over the connection. "I may not be able to kill big bro, but I can block him out of Sam's head. Yes, yes, I'm sure that's very exciting news and you want to come get me right now." Dean can practically hear the eyerolling and it's almost enough to make him hang up just on principle, but _Sam_. "I have to go find all the little bits of my grace first, though. Got scattered all over the Midwest, just my luck. So, how about you give me directions to your little hidey-hole and I'll meet you all there? We can make s'mores!" Gabriel's tone is cheerful, but there's a dark edge to the words that just makes Dean feel sorry for him.

"Fine, whatever." He recites Bobby's coordinates then hangs up before Gabriel can make him regret it, immediately busying himself with setting back up their exit ladder instead of looking at Sam, who's staring at him like he's just announced a conversion to vegetarianism.

"Why did you tell him where Bobby's place is?"

Dean shrugs. "Said he needed a place to stay while he put himself back together."

"Are you serious?" Sam stomps over and grabs his phone back with a glower that would be frightening if he didn't currently smell like wet dog. "Dean, he—" His voice cracks. "He killed you over a hundred times, just to teach me a _lesson_. The guy's a loose cannon, and you're giving him free run of Bobby's place? What would Cas say?"

Dean bristles; any ready retort he had is lost at mention of Castiel. "I don't know, because he isn't here. Now fuck off, okay?"

The ache in his voice is like a bruise, tender and ugly, and Sam looks away.

\---

It doesn't strike him until later that Gabriel didn't say anything about having seen them in Wyoming. But they're an hour away from Bobby's and it seems moot to mention it now, or at least it does until suddenly the archangel's there in the middle of the road and Dean drives through him.

"What the fuck," Sam says, "what the fuck what the fuck," following up with a yelp when his chest abruptly becomes quite intimate with the dashboard.

"What the _fuck_ ," agrees Dean, shoving the gear stick into park and taking his boot off the brake.

When they get out to check the damage, however, there's nothing there.

"We should—"

"Yes," Dean says.

\---

By the time the brothers arrive, they're half expecting to find the house burned to the ground.

On the upside, it's still standing. The downside—well, the downside is sitting out on the porch staring right at them.

Gabriel's wearing the same clothes from the last time they saw him, purples and greens like a forest burial, the jagged puncture in his shirt just another reminder of everything that's wrong in their lives.

"Hey gramps, guess who's here!" The windows rattle with the screech of the archangel's voices as he twists around, opening the door with a snap.

"Jesus, turn it down," Dean says, scowling as he kicks away one of the empty liqueur bottles rolling around near the doormat.

"Would if I could, Deano; my muffler's got a hole in it, to use language you _should_ be able to understand."

Dean huffs, takes a step closer to where Gabriel's sitting. "All right, pal—"

"Let it go." Sam puts a hand between them, jerking away when Gabriel makes a grab for it. He's too slow—Gabriel's fingers are soft but his grip is hard, turning Sam's skin white with the cold press of his vessel's nails.

"Where have you seen them?"

Sam tries to yank his hand back, fails and gets a sprained wrist for his effort. "Christ! Seen what?"

"My vardøgr." Vibrating just at the edge of hearing, Gabriel's true voice is a feedback whine dipping in and out every few words, making him sound raw and multifaceted like a cliff shearing away underfoot.

"Your what now?" Dean can't help but be intrigued; just because something supernatural is a douche doesn't mean it can't also be interesting, he figures.

Gabriel shoots him an annoyed look and lets go of Sam's hand. "CliffsNotes version: Manifestations of my grace which happen to look like me."

Still rubbing his wrist, Sam nods, winces. "But why have we been seeing them? It's like they've been following us."

"You wish. They precede me, like messengers." He smiles at some private joke. "At any rate, there's traces of me all over your gigantor body, Sam, so I _know_ you've seen at least one."

"We, uh, we drove through one a few hours ago—" Sam ducks his head at Gabriel's snort. "And there was another back in Wyoming."

"And again I ask: where?"

"The first was off route 25, and the second was on 90," says Sam, ignoring Dean's squint. He was planning on telling Dean about the first one at some point; he just hadn't found the right moment, was all.

"All right, not too bad. I've got juice enough for that." Gabriel puts his hands on his knees and rises up in one fluid motion, rolling his shoulders and vanishing before Sam has a chance to give more specific directions.

"Fucker keeps finding us, he should be able to home in on his own whatsits easily enough," Dean says with a shrug.

"Vardøgr, and cut the guy a break." Bobby says from behind them, making Sam and Dean turn in surprise. "Got himself killed for you, didn't he?" After a brief glance at the mess on his porch, Bobby unlocks his wheels and turns to go back inside. "You boys better be planning on cleaning that up."

\---

There are books piled on the floor now, the tallest stacks coming up to Sam's waist. None of them are going to go any higher, because whenever Bobby hands one of them a book meant to go back on a shelf they just put it on the floor, start a new pile without saying anything. A fight's coming; they all know it, but there's no energy for that right now.

They wind through these miniature canyons to the kitchen and Bobby returns to the study, leaving them with the cabinets full of decades-old cans and loaves of supermarket bread.

"He still looking for a way to make it so you don't have to say yes to Michael?" Sam's bangs fan across his forehead, hiding his eyes as he spreads cheap mayonnaise on the beginnings of a cheese sandwich.

Dean shrugs out of habit. "Guess so." He makes suggestions for toppings—a slice of tomato, maybe some pepper—but otherwise stays quiet, leaning against the desk. When Sam holds out a plate he takes it with a nod, hands over a beer in return.

"Gabriel told me he knows a way to block Lucifer from your dreams," Dean says casually, watching as Sam's fingers dent the cold aluminum.

Sam opens his mouth, visibly reconsiders and takes a drink before trying again. "You didn't mention this before because why?" The pain in his wrist's flaring up, so he sets down his beer with a scowl and opens the freezer for an ice pack.

"Because of shit like that." The gesture Dean makes is vague, but Sam understands anyway. "How far can we really trust him?"

"He did tell us about the horsemen's ri—"

They're interrupted by a soft popping noise, and then Gabriel picks up Sam's beer and finishes it with a series of noisy gulps.

"Nothing like a cold one, eh?" The archangel claps a heavy hand on Dean's shoulder—almost hard enough to make him stagger—before sauntering out into the study to flop down on the couch there, sneakered feet up on an armrest.

"Hey!" Dean shouts after him, lunch forgotten.

Bobby looks up when the brothers storm in—or rather, when Dean storms in and Sam follows gingerly behind, cradling his wrist—and sighs. "Keep it down, will you? If you haven't noticed, I'm trying to help stop the apocalypse here."

"What he said." Gabriel slides his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. "Piecing grace back together can really take it out of a guy, you know."

Dean's answer is to kick the couch.

"Rule number one of being a guest? If you break it, fix it."

"I thought it was don't leave dishes in the sink?" Another kick, this time hard enough to jolt out a yelp. " _Fine_ , you big baby," Gabriel says, snapping his fingers without bothering to open his eyes. "Jeez, the littlest things. Next you'll be wanting me to go pick up lil' bro for you."

The expression on Dean's face shifts from annoyed to something strangled, something he can't share. "Li—you mean Cas? You know where he is?"

Now Gabriel opens his eyes, looks at Dean just long enough for the air in the room to start tasting bitter.

"Of course. You keep underestimating us archangels, Dean," and the words echo, almost, their resonance cut short when he vanishes again.

\---

He's not back right away, and Sam can tell Dean's disappointed because he shuts down, doesn't offer anything beyond the occasional grunt when Bobby starts laying out the latest research.

"Boy, I am this close to just throwing—"

"Hey! Little help here?" Gabriel's behind them, with a pale face and a half-conscious Castiel leaning against him. Just as his fingers start to slip Dean's there, hand against the angel's chest, to lift Castiel's weight away. Castiel tries to take a step but staggers, pulls Dean down to the floor with ou.

"What's going on?" Bobby's brought himself around, various relics ready in his lap.

Sam gives Dean a hand up. "I think he's just—"

"Human. Or close enough, anyway," Gabriel says, a touch distastefully. "Always have to do things the hard way, don't you, Cas?"

Dean's got Castiel supported now, and when discomfort flits across the angel's face Dean glares at Gabriel.

"You just gonna leave him this way?"

Gabriel flings himself back onto the couch, presses his palms into his eyelids. "Oh, Father, what did I do to deserve this?"

It takes a particularly pissy look from Sam to stop one of Dean's snide remarks. "Look," Sam says, "If there's something you could do to help out Cas—"

"Please don't talk about me as though I'm not here," slurs Castiel.

Sam swallows a cringe. "Sorry, right. What I'm trying to say is, this is the last thing then we'll get out of your hair. Promise."

Gabriel snorts. "Whatever. Just bring him over here," he says, waving at Dean.

When they're close enough Gabriel reaches out, yanks Castiel against him by the lapel of ou's trench coat.

Castiel whuffs at the impact, and before ou can balance ouself Gabriel's got one hand on ou's jaw and the other in ou's hair and is guiding ou's mouth down, slotting their lips together and sealing in the light starting to spill off Gabriel's tongue.

At first Dean and Sam are too baffled to react, but then Bobby snaps "Eyes!" which means there's nothing to see, not unless they want to die, and there's a sudden crash of cold over the room—

"Thank you, Gabriel," Castiel says hesitantly, and they uncover their eyes. Castiel's at the foot of the couch, standing on ou's own now and looking down at a tired but distinctly satisfied-looking Gabriel, and there's a faint ring to ou's voice that fades as ou goes on. "That was...unnecessary. I could have managed."

"Yeah right. Just don't go losing it again, you hear?"

Castiel pauses, nods.

"Well, that was, uh," starts Dean.

The archangel blows him a raspberry. "It's not gay for me to kiss my brother, if that's what you're so freaked by. We're angels, genderless warriors of heaven, any of this ringing a bell?" He curls his legs onto the couch, props himself up on an elbow and makes a show of checking out Sam. "Now, if I were to kiss _your_ brother—"

"Ugh," is all Dean has to say to that.

"Jesus, you two are like a pair of five-year-olds on the playground." Bobby's back behind his desk, putting the unneeded relics away. "Either you gonna help me, or get out."

"Fine. I'll take Cas—" but Castiel's already gone, loose papers wafting to the floor. Dean rolls his eyes, turns and goes upstairs without further comment.

Sam starts to follow him, then stops. Behind him, Gabriel chuckles.

"Let me guess: there's one more thing. There always is with you guys."

Nobody's moved, but Gabriel shifts on some imperceptible level that sends a stillness throughout the air. Bobby looks back and forth between them and comes to the conclusion that it would be easier if he just left them alone, so he does, crossing into the kitchen and sliding the doors shut.

Doing his best to look sheepish, Sam puts his hands in his pockets. "Dean said you had a way to block out Lucifer."

"Boy are you lucky I'm tired of killing you two," Gabriel mutters, squeezing his still-glowing eyes shut, and suddenly Sam's not feeling so charitable anymore.

"About that—you can stop holding the whole I-gave-my-life-for-you crap over our heads, all right? I'm never going to forget that Tuesday. _Never_ ," spits Sam, then with two quick clicks Gabriel has him on the floor, is in his face like thunder.

" _Good_. Because if you do, I'll be there to rub it back in." His legs are heavy across Sam's chest as he bites each word out, breath cold and sickly sweet. "What you love will leave you, Sam, and you had better be able to fucking deal."

Sam just stares back, refuses to say anything. Gabriel narrows his eyes, and that weird shifting thing happens again, only this time Sam feels like he's been dunked in ice water—

Just as it occurs to him that maybe these moments are Gabriel stretching, spreading a thousand wings, the archangel's up and off, opening the front door and looking across the junkyard.

"There's another vardøgr nearby. The grace transfer must have pulled it here," and with that he just walks outside, lets the wind blow the door shut.

Bobby comes back in while Sam's still on the floor trying to process it all, gives his foot a nudge.

"Your little pissing contest done? Yeah? Then get up, get your brother, and help me figure out an inventory for a shopping run."

\---

Dean and Bobby have just pulled away in one of the less beat-up vans, honking a goodbye at Sam, when Gabriel reappears on the porch.

He grabs Sam's elbow and pulls him inside, thrumming with a renewed power that sends static electricity crackling along Sam's bones. "All right, let's get our Ziploc on." The archangel's voices have faded back into one, but there's a current in it that threatens to make Sam's blood run slow.

"Whoa, whoa, hold up." Sam yanks his arm back, stopping just inside the study's entrance. "Suddenly you're just cool with doing what we ask? What happened to teaching me a lesson, all that self-righteous—"

"I got better," Gabriel says, raising an eyebrow. "Think of it like you're dealing with somebody who's working on Heaven's biggest hangover, yeah? Anyhow, I would have thought you'd be thrilled to bits, Sammy. Your very own guardian angel!" He waggles his fingers for emphasis, his grin a touch too sharp for comfort.

"Yeah, no. You were Loki for how many years? There's gotta be a catch." Sam frowns. "And don't call me that."

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "If you call stopping the apocalypse a catch. Honestly—what's it going to take for you to trust me? Sex? Because, hey, that's doable, and," he raises his voice over Sam's sputtering, "Odds are it'd end better than the last few non-humans you banged."

Sam freezes. "How do you know about that."

"Hello, archangel?" Gabriel puts his hands on his hips, leans back against the wall. "So, how about it?"

"Just do the seal thing so you can get out of here again," Sam says as he drags a chair over to the middle of the room, sitting down with a hollow thump.

Smirking, Gabriel rolls back the cuffs of his jacket. "Sure, sure." Then without warning he leans in, touches a finger to Sam's forehead between his eyes, and there's a deep cold heat that shoots around his crown—

Everything goes white then blurry as Sam flinches away in pain, gasping and trying to blink the tears away.

"There. Now Lucifer can't get in your dreams. Well, unless he manages to shave those sigils back off every inch of your skull," Gabriel's saying, and Sam feels like he should object or something but before any words come to mind he passes out.

\---

Sam wakes up somewhere softer, a bit brighter but no warmer, and it takes him a moment to figure out that he's in one of the bedrooms upstairs. He sits up—or tries to, anyway, the way the walls lurch at him forcing him back down. After a long short while, he can lift his head enough to see Gabriel watching him from a chair at the foot of the bed.

"Mmmngh," says Sam, and wow did that sound more coherent in his head. But Gabriel doesn't go for snark or derision or anything, just smiles slow and careful and full of teeth, then the bed's dipping with his weight as Gabriel slips his fingers under the bottom of Sam's shirt and begins undoing the buttons.

Up close the archangel's eyes aren't their usual flinty gold, but rather a flat shade of what looks like purple, and his hands are too soft—

"Starting without me? Sam, I'm disappointed in you."

Sam's only just been able to catch up with the fact that he should be protesting; hearing Gabriel talk with his mouth closed sets him back a good few minutes. He manages to bring his eyes up over Gabriel's shoulder to see another Gabriel leaning over them, and he has the brief horrible thought that he's died somehow and gone back to Broward County, Florida—

Gabriel, the second one, slaps him across the jaw, setting his bones tingling again. "Snap out of it," and yes, that's Gabriel's impatient tone, which still doesn't mean that he's not dead because even in the afterlife things can _hurt_ —

"Okay, okay, yikes! Vardøgr, Sammy, remember those? You've got one all up on you right now." The archangel actually looks kind of concerned, and it's this that helps bring Sam down.

"Not real," Sam mumbles.

Gabriel pulls the vardøgr off him and holds it at arm's length, glancing back and forth between it and Sam. "Right. You're fine." Then he smiles, and Sam can tell the difference this time in the way it doesn't quite reach the real Gabriel's eyes. "I think I know a way to make you more than fine."

Even though Sam's still pretty out of it the line sounds ridiculous; he can't stop himself from giggling, and Gabriel's offended expression just makes it worse.

"You're killing the mood." With a snap of the fingers he silences Sam. "Now, do you want a little bedside entertainment or not?"

Sam, half curious and half bewildered, nods. Worst-case scenario, Gabriel's planning on making the now-passive vardøgr into a toy, cat-and-mouse style—

And he's right, except for the part where the cat doesn't generally start to take off the mouse's clothes while licking its neck and he's losing track of this metaphor so he just retreats, shifts up the bed until his back is against the wall.

"Don't worry, kiddo, you don't have to do anything. Just lie back and enjoy the show," Gabriel says—purrs, really, and now Sam's thinking of cats again and he can't wait until he feels better and can leave this room, because Gabriel's got the vardøgr undressed and so that's what the archangel looks like naked. The archangel's vessel. Whatever.

Sam can't look away from the way Gabriel trails his fingers down the vardøgr's body and between its legs, pressure right _there_ shifting its feet farther apart until it collapses onto him. There's a translucency to its skin that glows against the dark layers of Gabriel's clothes, but then Gabriel slides his palm under its cock and the solidity of it all is almost surreal.

The vardøgr parts its lips a little, like it's panting, but no sound comes. "That's right, all mine," Gabriel murmurs, and it just figures that even during sex he can't shut up.

If he were more lucid maybe Sam would be concentrating on other things, like getting the hell out of here, but there's something about how the two of them look the same but are responding so differently—the vardøgr soft and pliable under Gabriel's controlling touch—

Sam finds himself with an erection, and he's not sure whether he's pressing the heel of his hand down at the base to will it away or help it along. Judging by the hum of Gabriel's laugh, he's not the only one who's noticed.

"Told you you'd enjoy yourself," Gabriel says into the crook of the vardøgr's neck, then he pulls away and winks at Sam. "Scoot up."

Shifting around to sit against the headboard, Sam grabs the pillow and jams it over his crotch. Gabriel's answer is to roll his eyes before thumping down at the other end of the bed and pulling the vardøgr onto his lap, his fingertips pressing white-deep along the curve of its ass with a force that threatens to puncture the skin, send light spurting everywhere—

But what happens is the vardøgr opens its mouth wide, its eyes too, and grinds down hard enough to force out a hiss from Gabriel. Each buck of its hips smears precum all over the archangel's thigh and there's a brief moment where Gabriel's fingers stutter as he tries to get his own cock out.

The vardøgr tucks its hand down between them, interlocks its fingers with Gabriel's and starts up a rhythm that gets Sam's blood throbbing to match. Gabriel's still in control, holding the vardøgr steady with an arm against the small of its back and nipping his way along its jawline to tug on its earlobe. Every now and then, though, the vardøgr's thumb slicks over the tip of his cock and he shudders with his whole body and there's that wave of cold again, the one that means Sam's been touched by Gabriel's wings.

Gabriel, breathing heavily now, glances over at Sam, at his flushed face. "What do you think, Sammy? Should I finish this?"

Sam's struck by the contrasts of the moment, by the shadows under the vardøgr's closed eyes, by the line of Gabriel's lips pressing bruises onto his double's sternum. There doesn't really seem to be a point in saying no, so he nods and leans forward, rubs at the denim over his cock in time with the archangel.

But then Gabriel picks up the pace, moving at an inhuman speed that makes Sam gasp, and the vardøgr's trembling all over, scrabbling at Gabriel's back until he bites down on its shoulder and there's grace pouring into the room and Sam's going to die—

Gabriel's got a hand over its eyes, is finally kissing it not hungrily but with a need old and impossible to fill, and then there's the harsh muffled sounds, warm and wet, that mean it's over. Sam's a little breathless himself, but having expected something like broken windows or burst lights he's almost disappointed.

Caught up in the moment as he is, though, Sam has to admit that Gabriel looks pretty hot right now—even in a guy's body—with his hair mussed and stuck across his forehead, eyes and lips bright with sex and grace, and a hand dragging obscenely through the cum on his shirt and pants as the vardøgr disappears.

Then, with a snap, Gabriel's clean again and standing by the door, his hand on the knob. "Well. They should be home soon; since you seem to be feeling better, I can probably let them get unlost now." He sees the hand Sam's jammed down his briefs, clicks his tongue. "Don't worry, you still have time to take care of that boner—an impressive one, if I may say so."

Abruptly very aware of the fact that he just watched an archangel fuck itself, Sam folds in on himself. "Um."

Gabriel snorts and opens the door. "And yes, you have your voice back. You're welcome."

There's a lengthy pause, during which Gabriel doesn't leave and Sam stares everywhere except at him.

Sam clears his throat, opens his mouth, coughs again. "Isn't this where you say 'See you later, kiddo' and whammy yourself out of here?"

Crossing his arms, Gabriel leans against the doorframe. "Yeah, probably—but considering I just put myself on display for you it seems only fair to return the favor, hey?"

By now Sam's lucid enough to be vaguely bothered by this, but one: with all his grace back Gabriel has an unearthly charisma, attractiveness even, and two: he _really_ needs to come. So he pushes the uneasiness down, in the Winchester family tradition, and goes for it.

There's something domineering in Gabriel's eyes that borders on ruthless, ancient, and this just pulls Sam's skin tighter, makes each touch mean that much more. With his pants pulled down and cool air hitting his cock, Sam knows he must look young and dirty; the thought has him involuntarily spreading his legs a bit, tipping his head back against the headboard and closing his eyes as he curls his fingers in harder.

"Keep going," Gabriel whispers, voice tense and dangerous, and Sam does. He feels the weight of himself, hot and heavy in his stomach and curving up through his throat with each stroke—

It hits him fast, leaves him choking on nothing as he tries to breathe, tries to rub his eyes to pull himself together.

Then Gabriel's close again with a wildness barely contained. "Sam. Let me—You've got something on your face." A swipe of the finger, and Gabriel slips Sam's cum between his lips, wraps his tongue around it.

Sam watches him do this because he can't think of anything to say. Gabriel doesn't say anything either, just looks at him like something reconsidered. But when Sam opens his mouth Gabriel steps back, gives himself a little shake, and disappears.

That night, when Sam goes to bed—in a different room, thank you very much—there's a note on the desk.

He'll read it in the morning.


End file.
